


Summer in Beacon Hills

by dragontattoo75



Series: Seasons in Beacon Hills [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fox Stiles, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Werefox Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragontattoo75/pseuds/dragontattoo75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warm summer days are perfect for swimming in the lake, deep in the Beacon Hills Preserve. Afterwards, Stiles likes to dry his fur in the sun while he listens to the doves in the nearby trees, and feel the light breeze tickle his whiskers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer in Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you nmydreamz for pre-reading, and Sue273 for betaing.
> 
> Much love to [Brego_Mellon_Nin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/) and 35nanou for support and friendship.
> 
> I wrote this while I was on holiday and listened a lot to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fq-geJ9UwG4/) song.

 

Summer in Beacon Hills

 

Sometimes, when the sun is about to set behind the trees and the wind is merely a light breeze, Stiles shifts and runs to his favorite place in the preserve; a small clearing, where there’s a lake filled with lukewarm water from now until the end of August. 

 

He jumps right in and doggy paddles towards the deep end, his muzzle puffing amongst water lilies and pondweed, before his short legs reach the stones at the other side. He climbs out and lies down on the soft, warm grass, rolling around in it to dry his short, summer fur. 

 

There’s a couple of doves cooing in the nearby pine tree, and a woodpecker, pecking for insects, a mile or two south; the perfect, lazy afternoon soundtrack. Stiles sighs in contentment, circling around himself a couple of times before settling down, using his bushy tail as a pillow. 

 

He falls into a quick slumber, but a low sound catches his immediate attention. 

 

His ears perk up, cocking to the thickest part of the forest, and he sniffs his muzzle into the air, trying to identify the source of soft paws that are stepping closer with every second that passes. 

 

When red eyes appear in the darkest shadows, Stiles jumps to attention, his heart thundering on alert at the potential threat that steadily approaches. He tries to sniff the air again, but the light breeze isn’t in his favor for the time being, but then the creature reveals himself from the shadows. A huge, black wolf appears, its ears perking up in interest. When the wind is again on Stiles’ side, what hits his senses causes his pulse to increase; not from fear anymore, but in anticipation. 

 

A delicious smell is coming from the wolf, making Stiles want to put his snout in the very source of it and lick. His fox instincts tell him the wolf is reacting to Stiles’ heat. If Stiles’ scent hadn’t appealed to him, he’d either have attacked the smaller Stiles by now or, most likely, would have passed his way through the preserve. 

 

This alpha’s not from around here or he’d be mated long before now. Almost all of the were-creatures in the preserve are with someone, or so it seems to Stiles anyway, especially during his days of heat. 

 

He takes a step forward. Perhaps it’s a confirmation for the wolf because he’s next to Stiles’ side immediately, sniffing his behind. A short whine forms in Stiles’ throat.

 

Circling around each other, a mating dance begins between the not exactly odd, but highly unusual pairing. When the wolf lifts his paw in the end, lightly pushing Stiles over, Stiles feels like he’s in some sort of a trance. Arousing pheromones come from the other creature, directed at Stiles and surrounding them.

 

Stiles can’t believe his luck. If he hadn’t felt so restless and rebellious because of his heat, he would not have been in the wolf’s path, but mowing his father’s backyard at this point. He’d be sweating and cursing while the wolf would have passed the preserve, probably sticking to the outskirts, due to his alphaness. Beacon Hills Reserve already has a werewolf alpha—Stiles’ best friend, Scott—and his scent is all over the trees. He’s nothing if not thorough, and even if strangers can’t sense anything else and miss Scott’s good-natured personality, they’re as safe as they can be, here. Sure, they have their fair share of omegas, even a few betas passing by from time to time, but an alpha, who’s ignoring Scott’s alpha scent . . . unmated and interested in Stiles . . . that’s so unusual, Stiles would call it a miracle.

 

The wolf stands motionless over Stiles, who’s lying in the grass, drying out his fur, absorbed in his own thoughts while the alpha cocks his head and observes.

 

Stiles is not one to be pushed around.

 

He jumps up on his paws, startling the wolf with his sudden change of direction, and Stiles takes advantage of it, sprinting over the grass, rocks and around the trees, to circle the lake. He’s already in the shadows before the wolf reacts, and is right at Stiles’ tail in the blink of an eye. Stiles laughs, a soft, happy bark that rings in the clearing, and jumps over to the water.

 

The wolf barks in answer. Stiles would need some time to decipher the sounds completely, unfamiliar as they are, but it sounds like a mixture of confusion, an order to stop and let the wolf have his way with him—which Stiles fully intends, of course—and something like a hint of . . . fear?

 

Regardless, Stiles takes pity on the wolf; he does have a soft heart, after all. He jumps into the lake and paddle swims to the deep end, but doesn’t get out of the water like he did earlier, no. He keeps paddling at a slow pace, holding his body in place while he turns to wait for his pursuer.

 

Sculling in the water, Stiles uses the time to take in the appearance of the werewolf. He’s a magnificent specimen, like a GQ model amongst the werecreatures. His thick, shiny fur shows he’s as well fed as you’d anticipate from an alpha, but that makes Stiles wonder why he’s here. Where’s his pack? 

 

He’s staring down at the water, tentatively dipping his front paw into it and shakes it as a shudder rips through him. Lifting his head when Stiles yips, urging him on as if to say follow me, the alpha starts wading in, clearly deciding Stiles is worth getting himself wet, and sets out to swim.

 

The werewolf’s huge size, even if he’s obviously not a skilled swimmer, is to his advantage. Stiles is treading water, waiting, and the wolf is by his side a few paddles later. He shakes his head, splashing water in Stiles’ face, and Stiles closes his eyes for a second against the sun before coming to a conclusion. He wants to be human and see the man’s face as they mate. It’s like there’s too much in the way while they’re animals. 

 

Stiles turns to human form and raises his hand, stroking over the werewolf’s furry head, who quickly follows Stiles’ lead. A man, merely a few years older than Stiles—he’s young for an alpha, but so is Scott—appears with hair as dark as his wolf fur was, eyes green like forest leaves in the morning sun, and fair features, from what Stiles can see above the waterline. Stiles couldn’t have been more surprised by the man’s beauty if he’d gotten paid for it. By the look on the man’s face, he is surprised too, if the widening of his eyes is any indication. He places his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“Hi,” Stiles says softly, hoping the man wants him as much as his wolf obviously did.

 

The man’s treading water silently, waiting. Stiles takes the lead then, grabbing the man’s hand from his shoulder to hold it in his hand. Studying the fingers, which look tasty, he asks, “You still want me?” before he decides on the middle finger, and sucks it into his mouth.

 

The man gasps with a shudder against Stiles’ face, his pupils dilating as he fixes them on Stiles’ mouth before flicking them up to meet Stiles’ laughing eyes. Stiles feels high from the effect his little effort produces, wishing everything in his life was as easy as this afternoon has been; breeze blowing through the trees, birds eating their insect dinners, and two creatures giving in to the deepest instinct of all.

 

He hums, slowly pulling the man’s finger from his mouth and takes it in his hand again to lead him up onto the stones. When his feet reach the warm grass, Stiles turns, taking in his partner from head to toe; his hard cock pointing straight at Stiles, hopefully towards his goal. Stiles feels a wave of his heat wash over him, making him hot and wanting. He reaches for the wolf, so ready to be claimed.

 

Trees get pushed over as a wolf—another alpha—leaps at what’s not a man anymore, but an angry werewolf, and pins him down before Stiles’ alpha snarls. He sinks his canines deep into one of the attacker’s paws, who bellows, and gets thrown off, landing hard on the ground. Stiles’ wolf makes short work of the killing, and rips the throat out with his teeth.

 

Stiles sinks down onto the grass as he turns back into a fox reflexively, seconds away from fleeing the scene when one of the preserve’s rangers jumps out of the bushes, right on the spot the last werewolf came from. His familiarity keeps Stiles in place, although anxiously shifting his weight from paw to paw as he watches for more danger, ready to spring.

 

Chris Argent stops dead in his tracks, taking in the scene in front of him; bloody corpse, snarling, huge, werewolf and tiny, trembling werefox. Stiles expects the ranger to pull the trigger of the crossbow he’s holding raised in his arms, but instead he lowers it, gaping for a second before, to Stiles’ surprise, a wide grin spreads on his sun-worn face. He strides over to the werewolf, who is now back in his gorgeous, human form. Well, looking as gorgeous as possible when blood is dripping down his cheeks, an obvious satisfaction on his face at just having slain one of his own kind. 

 

Argent claps the man’s shoulder as both look down at the ripped-apart corpse on the ground. Stiles looks away in disgust. 

 

“Nice one, Hale,” Argent praises then turns to Stiles, frowning. “What’s he doing here?”

 

The wolf turns to Stiles too, his expression softening as he’s taking in the werefox in the shiny, red fur with brown spots covering his face. “He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he says.

 

Argent snorts. “Right! Like I haven’t heard that from Stiles before!” His voice is as high as a boy’s, mocking, “I swear it wasn’t me!” He turns away from Stiles, kicking the dead body. “Troublemaker is what Stiles is. You’d better stay away from that one, Hale, if you know what’s good for you.”

 

Hale nods his head with a jerk, hauls the dead wolf up on his shoulders like it’s nothing and starts trotting after Argent, without glancing back.

 

Head sagging, Stiles starts on his way back home, his legs dragging in the opposite direction the werewolf went. He might as well go home, he’s got a lawn to mow. Better get to it, if it’s to be done in time for his dad’s barbeque. 

 

 

*

 

 

He stays under the water spray for much longer than necessary; washing takes time when you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Now, after someone was within his reach, even for just a few minutes, it feels harder than usual to be alone, only to be accompanied by his right fist during his heat. Even his old man’s got himself a girl these days. 

 

It isn’t like Stiles is in a position to move away from Beacon Hills to find himself someone decent. He’s in way too deep with the were-creature community for it. They’ve got a nice set-up here, better than he could hope for anywhere else, and besides . . . his dad and best friends live here, and it’s not like he’s desperate for a partner. No, he really isn’t!

 

The smell of grilled beef and the sound of beer cans popping hits Stiles when he steps out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel and drying away the dew from the mirror to see his reflection. He gives himself a low pep talk before opening the door and slinks outside to where his dad’s backyard is filled with humans and were-animals. Almost everyone’s in human form tonight. 

 

Allison is here, her arm thrown around her husband’s shoulder where he’s laughing at something Scott tells him, her belly heavy. She looks up, catching Stiles’ eye on her, and she must see something there because she smiles softly, reaching her hand out for him to take. 

 

Stiles nods his head to the grill, needing his proteins, and grabs himself a plate, filling it up with potato salad and meat. He’s starving! He jumps when Chris clamps a hand down on his shoulder. “You all right, there?”

 

Stiles frowns.

 

Chris eyes him. “From earlier. In the forest?”

 

It dawns on him. “Oh, you mean the alpha ripping the throat out of the other alpha right in front of me, and you saying I’m trouble, then leave without any explanation?” he asks, perhaps too harshly. He’s grateful for the work the ranger does at the preserve. 

 

Chris winced. “Well, yeah.” He grabs himself a plate, skips the potatoes, glances up solemnly to see his daughter frowning at him and hastily fills a third of his plate with tomato salad and corn. He sighs, relieved when she gives him a curt nod.

 

“Sorry you had to see that,” he apologizes, plucking up his utensils. “Hale and I chased the alpha for days before we finally got him.” He looks over to the forest, eyes glazed over, and shudders as he adds, “It was a nasty one.”

 

Stiles grabs himself a beer and sets his eyes on a spot at his friend’s table, throwing to the ranger, “Don’t worry about me.”

 

He slumps down in his seat, popping open his beer can and empties it before he sets it down on the table. They’re all staring at him when he looks up. “What?”

 

“You all right, man?” Scott asks, concern clear in his expression.

 

Stiles plasters a smile on his face. “Sure.”

 

“Long day?” Allison asks mildly, patting his hand before he grabs his fork. 

 

Stiles sighs, stabbing a potato. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

“Your heat bothering you?” Scott asks. It’s impossible to have secrets like this in the were-animal community, but they’re all used to it, most of them having grown up like this.

 

Stiles stuffs his mouth with a grilled red pepper to have an excuse for not answering the pesky question. It’s only friendly concern from his alpha, it’s just hitting too close to home at the moment.

 

Danny leans over Scott’s shoulder, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “You know where to find me if you need any help.” 

 

Stiles grins at him before swallowing his mouthful. “Thanks, man.” Danny’s too much like a brother to him, having known each other since high school and all, and they’re just friends. Danny’s grin never falters. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”

 

Stiles eats his food and leans back, patting his stomach contently. Good food and nice company, not much more he’d want for tonight. He breathes in deeply; the smell of barbeque and friends. A whiff of something—a trigger from his memories—hits him in his stomach. He’s going to remember the happy time today, the smell of the alpha werewolf’s delicious scent, and it makes him a little depressed to think about it. He’d finally caught the vicious alpha together with Argent. He’s probably already halfway home to his own pack by now, in a preserve, God knows where.

 

Allison elbows him out of his thoughts. “Quit moping,” she reprimands.

 

Stiles sits up straighter and makes a grab for his beer can, glancing up. His father’s shaking hands with a ripped guy, clad in a white t-shirt and skin-tight, black jeans. Dark scruff and a green gaze meet Stiles’. Argent’s standing beside the man, clapping his shoulder, and looking proud at Stiles’ father, the sheriff.

 

Allison cat whistles, following Stiles’ gaze. “God damn! Who’s that?” She immediately picks up on the man—werewolf—noticing Stiles.

 

Stiles squirms in his seat, feeling his heartbeat pick up and his heat washes over him like a tidal wave. He tries to swallow through the dryness in his throat. “I believe that’s Hale.”

 

Isaac and Danny both turn to look at the man. Scott doesn’t though. “Yeah, it’s Derek Hale. Already met him. He got the last of the alpha pack that’s been rummaging from preserve to preserve, causing mayhem wherever they’ve been.” Scott takes a sip from his bottle before he sets it down, looking to Stiles. “His pack’s gone and he’s been . . . I’ve agreed to let him stay.” Scott ends his speech with a jerk of his head to the man in question, who’s now lurking over by the barbeque, piling his plate up with beef and uhm, beef.

 

Allison throws out to the table, “Invite him over,” as Hale looks up, scanning the crowd for a place to sit. Stiles shakes his head at his best friend, but it’s too late because Scott’s beckoning the newcomer over. “Derek! Come have a seat and meet everyone.”

 

Hale gives him a nod and catches Stiles’ eye before putting down his plate to start shaking hands in greeting. Stiles doesn’t have anywhere to make use of his hands, and no idea what to say. That’s never happened to him before. He probably, hopefully, mumbles his name as the man’s hand is in his, grip firm.

 

“Hey,” the man says low to Stiles, sitting down beside him and Stiles chickens out, turning without really thinking it over and curls around himself on the seat cushion, head resting on his thick tail. His instincts work better like this.

 

Allison giggles at Hale’s surprised face and starts stroking Stiles’ back. 

 

A full belly, a petting hand and a low rumble of voices to half-listen to, Stiles starts to relax as he breathes in the scent of the man eating beside him, and soon his eyelids start to feel heavy. The hand scratching him finds an especially good spot behind his ear and he purrs low from his stomach. The scratching stops for a second before rubbing more at the same spot.

 

He’s dozed off, because when he opens his eyes next, it’s starting to get dark. It’s still warm and he’s comfortable in his summer fur. He’s still being scratched, the fingers finding one good spot after another on his side, and he flips around, ready for some stomach . . . A low chuckle. Stiles lifts his head surprised to see the table’s empty except him and Hale, the werewolf sitting beside him.

 

Hale smiles softly down at him. “Hey, you wanna go for a run?”

 

Stiles stretches his back, yawning hugely before jumping down onto the grass to hide his embarrassment, immediately setting off into the forest—the preserve he knows like the inside of his pocket. Hale’s also changed, following on his tail. Stiles feels like showing off a little and darts in between shrubs and low branches for a while, but Hale is still at his heels. Stiles forgot the werewolf had been chasing the other alpha for days; of course he’s a tough one.

 

He’s panting by the time he’s back by the lake for the second time in one day. It would’ve been good to have another nice, cooling swim, but finally Hale’s on him, pinning him down on his back with his human hands, eyes unwaveringly watching Stiles’. “You change, too,” the werewolf says. “I know that’s how you want me.”

 

And Stiles wants that, wants them to be close without all the fur between them, so he changes as easy as breathing.

 

They’re both in their birthday suits and Hale presses his thighs between Stiles’ and slips in between them, looking down. Stiles follows his gaze, wrapping his legs around the man’s hips, their hard cocks pressed against each other.

 

“Fuuuck,” Stiles groans, arching his spine, and Hale bites at his exposed neck. Stiles needs it—now! 

 

“Do it!” he grunts. “I’ve been ready for hours!” 

 

He feels the other man’s breath over his face. “Open your eyes,” he says, and Stiles does. “I want your eyes on me as I mount you.” Stiles almost closes his eyes again in frustration. He can’t be expected to keep them open when Hale’s saying things like that.

 

“Derek,” the man says. 

 

“Derek,” Stiles repeats.

 

Derek slides his hand between them, finding Stiles’ opening, willing and ready, and breathes out in a rush when Stiles moans. “Do it!” Stiles urges, while finding the back of Derek’s head to press him down, so he can catch his lip between his teeth. Derek jerks back, startled, before he attacks Stiles’ mouth, kissing him deep and demanding immediately. Stiles grunts into the kiss, his head swimming when Derek bucks his hips to him, and his cock is inside Stiles, right where he wants it so badly. Derek sinks into him as deep as he can, and his eyes widen. “Fuck, Stiles. You feel so good.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grunts. “Less talk, more knotting.”

 

Derek’s hips freeze midway into a push, his eyebrows raised. 

 

“What?” Stiles wonders. “You don’t want to mate with me?” He tries to push Derek’s shoulders away, but it’s like lifting a brick wall. 

 

“You sure you want that?” Derek asks softly, his eyes darting between Stiles’. “You barely know me.”

 

“You don’t want to?” Stiles asks back.

 

Derek’s face looks serious to Stiles. “Oh, yeah, I want you all right. Almost lost Deucalion because of your scent earlier. Could’ve gotten us both killed!”

 

Stiles grins widely, pressing his feet into Derek’s ass cheeks, effectively pushing him deeper. “Good! Now fuck me like the animal you are,” he snickers.

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles wakes up to the sound of doves cooing in the nearby trees, the sun shining on his face. Derek’s lying beside him on the grass, his face resting in his hands. Stiles smiles lazily at him when he sees he’s awake. “So, you’re staying here in the preserve?”

 

Derek nods. “Want to show me your house today?”

 

That gets Stiles going. He gets up, yelling right before changing. “Race you to it!”

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
>  
> 
> Outtake that I couldn’t find a way to include:  
> . . . Stiles’ ears cock to identify the source and Derek sneezes. Stiles knows his hairs on one ear is longer than on the other, even if he’s a werefox he can look himself in the mirror, thank you very much.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://darkhairedguys.tumblr.com/) and [Pinterest](https://no.pinterest.com/dragontattoo75/).


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